Anar'alah belore
by AmetoMuchi
Summary: A weary Blood Elf gives himself a few moments to reflect on the state of affairs of his race. Possible oneshot. R&R appreciated


**_Anar'alah belore_**

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Silvermoon is a shadow of it's former self, much like it's inhabitants. The Addiction eats away at us all daily, making us empty and hollow as we search for sweet relief from the pain. No matter our individual power we're each only a step away from becoming one of the Wretched - those parasitic remnants of High Elves in the ruins of western Silvermoon constantly seeking nourishment for the pain in their souls, only to find death from the newly recruited among our ranks.

These are the things that run in my mind ceaselessly as I lay in an extravagant bed in one of the two Inns available in Silvermoon. I always choose this Inn due to it's proximity to Murder Row, the alley I would haunt frequently as I made my way to the building where my kindred gathered in search of power. Only once a week will I return to that place out of necessity, to keep from falling victim to the powers I myself wield.

Rolling over on the plush purple mattress I glance at the Felguard standing nearby. He speaks little, and when he does it is only to curse my existence and inform me of how he looks forward to my death. It is only slightly ironic how in time he has become my greatest strength and ally, using his powers to advance my own at a rapid speed. I've grown used to his snide comments and biting remarks. Too often has he repeated them as I send him into battle to slay those who would oppose me.

Having a Felguard gives a certain something to one's aura I think. It shows to others more openly what I am, how far I have risen in power, the depths of the darkest secrets of which I've lowered into. This demon from the Legion itself, is only cannon fodder. Yes, he is the most intelligent creature I have at my disposal, but his fate is the same nonetheless. Whether under my command or the Legion itself, he is merely the front line soldier meant to die for his superiors gain. Perhaps that is why he hates me as much as he does. Rather than falling with his comrades and brothers he has been brought to this world under the command of a mere mortal that is capable of bending his will.

At least he's more interesting than the Voidwalkers, reliable though they may be.

Sitting up I run a bare hand through the dark red hair that has become ragged from wilderness and moisture. Unfortunately I share the same vanity that has become associated with my entire race, I would need to fix this and other physical imperfections before I leave this sanctuary. Though this place of rest has more recently earned my ire, for these instances of peace are less and less forthcoming. Too often do I come here weary from my travels to find some younglings flirting in the hallway by my usually resting place. Too often am I forced to stomach the stupidity of a small group drinking themselves into a stupor and giving themselves to baser passions, and too often do I find some young mage or thief stroll into my presence and attempt to offer herself to me. Perhaps it's the power I posses now, or perhaps the morality of my race is so rapidly crumbling. I preferred the old ways, when the Elven women lived up to their names as High Elves and took charm and wit to bed. A time when the males of our race weren't so often to be foolish and brash, drinking themselves into a stupor night after night and showing so little self-respect. These Blood Elves are too young, too foolish to properly comprehend the suffering we've all gone through and shame themselves more than anyone else.

A feel a churning in my stomach as I remember a past night when I had become particularly inebriated due to the influence of a Tauren comrade. A large muscular fellow that one, reliable in a pinch yet only recently do we adventure together after knowing each other for so long. I briefly forget what was on my mind previously, my mind is starting to become more distracted. But soon I remember the previous night when my bovine-like friend and myself stumbled upon a Blood Elf female rogue bathing opening in the fountains in front of the Sunfury Spire, who then proceeded to advance rather bluntly onto the Tauren. It was then I started to consider that my people have truly become more and more misled.

We have our shining heroes and dark villains, much like every other race. I cannot dimly pray that this problem would become lessened in time. But it seemed unlikely. Those who would be our moral protectors, the Blood Knights, are weak themselves. Perhaps it is due to our different paths I despise them so. They claim to be protecting our citizens after the former Paladins abandoned us in our time of need much like the rest of the Alliance. But still I see no reliability amongst them. The stronger ones are egotistical, overconfident, and a liability. The younger members are weak, feeble, and more often than not the patrons of the despicable behavior often found among our females as of late.

What do the Blood Knights know of sacrifice? Perhaps we are similar in that we bend those who would lord over us to the will of the Children, but that is where the similarities end. I am a Warlock, my very existence is an example of the dangers of dark pacts. They siphon their abilities from a Naaru, and without it they are nothing. They have given nothing to gain these powers..

But the Mo'arg - Felguard, within five feet of this bed reminds me of my own hypocritical nature. Who am I to stand aloft and comment about morality? I have given my soul over to the Legion. It is only recently that I realized the gravity of my decision so long ago. When I discovered the powers given to Arthas and his Scourge was given by The Burning Legion. I was here when they came.

I remember the killing, the widespread destruction as the magic in me failed to protect those around me. I fought hard against the unholy things as they came for my family. No matter how many I sent to the Holy Light, which I naively believed to be protecting my civilization, more continued piling through the doorway. They destroyed my childhood home, they killed those under my care who hadn't taken their lives knowing the end was near. They broke something inside me and set the house aflame with a corpse still burning from my arcane flames.

Barely conscious and alive I was pulled from the wreckage by one of the surviving rangers. With time I learned of what had fully taken place and knew in my heart true sorrow, for I and my race had lost all. As Lor'Themar and his rangers defended what was left of our home, I laid useless and despaired. My magic had failed me, the Holy Light abandoned me, and with time when no help came we realized even the races undeniably fighting against the Scourge had abandoned us. It was only made more gleaming obvious when they betrayed our Lord and Savior, Prince Kael'thas. It was he himself who gave me the strength and courage to continue on. Being in his presence after all the events was what truly saved our race from extinction. We followed him happily as we named ourselves Blood Elves, in memory of our friends and family who had not survived.

I stayed with the rest on Azeroth to rebuild and maintain the flicker of hope that he had given us. Soon he sent Grand Magister Rommath to give us his teachings to control our hunger for magic, further saving our race. With time I made the personal decision to become a Warlock, to use the powers that created the Scourge against them and drive them from my homeland for eternity. The magic I previously wielded was useless, and I was forced to start again as I delved into the darker side of the Arcane.

This is where it has led me. Not long after I made that decision my power continued to grow until now, where I am more powerful than ever I was before. But I am keenly aware of the sacrifice I made for it. With hope I think that I can avoid losing my soul to the dark masters that I steal these secrets from, but I know it is a constant battle - much like our entire race is battling for existence. The Horde accepts us, the Forsaken wish to aid us, despite our distrust of them. Now as I've explored more of this World I see our previous allies wish to destroy us. The Night Elves see us as evil, as do many of the races part of the Alliance. They do not understand. I realize that it's possible they never will.

The Sin'dorei have no need of their understanding or their pity. Raising myself out of the bed I stumble forward, checking my person for anything missing. I had taken my gloves and boots off when I laid down but kept most of my equipment on. Sliding the clothing on I slowly made my way out, my body was still weak from my most recent visit to the Plaguelands. Sick from near death from the Scourge I made my way to the Argent Dawn where I recovered long enough to teleport myself to this Inn. The sickness still had a grip on my body.

As quickly and quietly as I could manage I purchased a beverage to take back to my bed, feeling parched. But much to my dismay I eyes on me. I glanced to the source and frowned, more younglings sitting at the grand table. One had cautious eyes, recognizing me for what I was and finding only distrust for me. I had grown used to that reaction. A younger male with short blonde hair stared at me with reverence, making the connection between me and the felguard he may have seen upstairs. A warlock, still early in his studies apparently. His awe and naivety would make him into a tool for Kil'jaeden, of this I was certain.

I only shook my head and made my way back to privacy as quickly as possible. Jhuutom, my Felguard minion, cast a glare from his depthless red eyes. As normal he went back to looking back and forth, always hoping for an adversary to show himself. He was always restless in a city, because there was nothing attacking me and therefore nothing to sink his axe into.

Slowly over time the weakness plaguing my body was sapping away, within a few minutes I would feel normal but still would require time to recover. I look down at the mug of alcohol in my hand and frown. In the dark brown liquid I see my own ethereal green eyes glowing eternally, a sign of the fel magic that I am so dependant on both as a Child of the Blood and as a Warlock. I will not be surprised in the least if in a few years when we can experience calm as a people that the warlocks are as outcast as they are by our allies. But for now we are viewed with normality and accepted as much as anyone else. Because we are the Sin'dorei, outcast in this world and orphaned by the reign of chaos. The Alliance despises us, some of our allies distrust us but accept us, but we have stood alone for well over four thousand years in Quel'thalas.

I quickly down the mug and wipe the moisture from the small goatee on my chin, slowly easing myself back onto the bed and for a moment allow myself a hopeful smile and look towards the future. A prospect I am still unused to, after so long of enjoying the now in my lifetime as a High Elf. But soon I will be strong enough to follow my Prince into Outland. Soon we will all join him in the former home of the Orcs and it is there - on that blasted land, another place ravaged by the Burning Legion's designs, that we Children of the Blood will belong again. Perhaps there, with Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider we will again walk in bright times and rise higher than we ever were before. Then we can walk by the light of the sun yet again.

Auhor's notes: I mostly wrote this as a the musings of my main character, Amagoi on Twisting Nether US server. I hope the errors aren't too bad! This was mostly written in one sitting. This is probably a oneshot but I'm already thinking about writing another later on as I advance in Outland again from this same pov. But that's only if people show interest! lol Thanks for reading


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